Heart Failure (37 page)

Adam began slowly at first, not eager to relive the harrowing moments, yet knowing he must. “When I walked in, Mary was here with a gun. Hartley was already secured to a chair. After she restrained me, she held a script in front of him and forced him to read it to Carrie.”

“And how did she force him to do that?”

Adam pointed to a bloody pair of pliers still under the chair where Hartley had been. “Eventually he made the call. Then Mary silenced him with tape over his mouth and sat down to wait for Carrie.”

The deputy scribbled a few notes. “Why did she do all this?”

It took Adam the better part of an hour to give the deputy what he needed, with Carrie and Dave adding information where it was needed.

Dave surrendered his off-duty gun, the one he’d concealed in his sling. Ballistic tests would confirm that a bullet from his Taurus .38 Special killed Mary, but he’d given her every chance to surrender. Instead, she chose to turn and aim her gun at him. Her last words—“Not on your life”—had been prophetic.

The deputy was putting his notebook in his pocket when a stocky, older man with a badge pinned to his golf shirt approached the group. Dave stuck out his hand. “Len, sorry to get you out tonight.”

The man smiled. “Sorry you had a spot of trouble, Dave.” He turned to the deputy. “Got what you need?”

“Yes, sir,” the deputy said.

By now Adam had figured that this was the county sheriff. The man said, “You folks can go. I need you to stop by my office on Monday so we can get formal statements.” He shook hands all around, and when he came to Carrie, he said, “Ma’am, I think it was pretty gutsy, the way you tried to save the life of a woman who’d been trying to murder you.”

Carrie shook her head. “I did what any physician would do. I only wish I could have done more.”

Even as she spoke, Carrie wondered at the truth of her words. What would she have done if the wound hadn’t been mortal, beyond her ability to treat in the circumstances? What if, for some reason, use of the defibrillator could have saved Mary’s life? Would Carrie have applied it, or would she have stood back and watched her enemy die? Although she hoped she would have done the right thing, Carrie was glad the decision had been made for her.

Carrie fought to keep her eyes open as she drove back to town. Adam was right behind her in his car. When she’d told him she had one more stop to make before going home, he insisted on being with her.

She wheeled into the Emergency Room parking lot and
felt reassured when she saw Adam bring his car to a stop beside hers. They exited and walked together toward the ER entrance.

“I guess there’s no need to feel like I’m in someone’s cross-hairs anymore,” he said.

“It’s going to take some time for it to soak in,” Carrie said, “but I think you’re right.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. This is the last piece of the puzzle, and I can’t rest until I deal with it.”

They moved through the sliding glass doors, and Carrie made her way to the desk where the clerk and triage nurse sat. “Is Rob Cole driving tonight?”

The clerk nodded through the double doors leading into the Emergency Room. “He and his partner just brought in a patient.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “They’re probably taking a break before their next call. Do you need to see him?”

“I’ll find him,” Carrie said. “Thanks.”

She indicated that Adam should follow her. In the ER she navigated a maze of gurneys, patients, families, staff, equipment, and miscellaneous roadblocks, her eyes moving constantly until she spotted Rob heading for the break room. “There he is. Come on.”

They caught Rob at the coffee urn, drawing a cup.

“Rob, we need a moment of your time.”

Rob’s initial reaction was that of a trapped animal. His eyes shifted back and forth and his body language warned of impending flight, but in a moment his features dissolved into another emotion—shame. “Dr. Markham, I’m sorry I acted that way. It’s . . . I can’t talk about it.”

“I think I can help you,” Carrie said. “Let’s sit down.”

A sofa and two overstuffed chairs, long past their prime, were arranged along two walls of the break room. Rob, Carrie, and Adam found seats and sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence.

Carrie decided to get right to it. “This is about Charlie DeLuca.” She noticed the tensing of Rob’s muscles at the name, but she plunged on. “You see, someone has been shooting at Adam and at me. We thought it might be you, trying to avenge Charlie’s imprisonment.”

“But—”

“No, we’ve discovered it wasn’t you. It was Charlie’s niece.” Carrie shook her head. “She’s no longer a threat.”

“What happened?”

Carrie took a moment to explain. “But the reason we’re here now is that we want to help you. And to do that, we need to know why you blew up at me when I mentioned DeLuca.”

“I told you. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rob, we’d like to get you some help.”

Rob moved his cup from hand to hand but made no attempt to drink. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. Finally he looked into Carrie’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing a therapist, but I still . . . struggle. I guess that’s why I’ve acted sort of funny toward you. He says I don’t know how to relate to women, at least not appropriately.”

Carrie opened her mouth but caught Adam’s quick shake of the head, so she waited for Rob to continue.

“When Charlie DeLuca was indicted, there was something else we found out, something that was even worse than bigamy, worse than the crimes that sent him to jail.” He tossed his
half-f paper cup into the trash. “It was what he’d been doing to my sister. It was so terrible . . . Well, she couldn’t forget it. So she left us to become a cloistered nun. Now her name is Sister Rafael. We haven’t seen her—can’t see her—since this happened. She withdrew from the world because she found out how terrible the world can be.”

Carrie leaned forward in her seat and noticed that Adam did the same.

“The night before she left home, my sister told me this, but made me swear not to let our mother know. She was glad Charlie DeLuca wasn’t really our stepfather. She was glad he was going to prison. Her words were, ‘I hope he rots in hell.’ Then she told me about how he’d come into her room every night when he was at our house and . . .” He put his head in his hands and started sobbing.

Carrie let out a breath she’d held for what seemed like an eternity. She could guess the rest. And her heart broke—for Rob, for his sister, for Adam, and for all the others who’d been affected by the sins of one man.

On Monday morning Adam dressed for work, but this time he didn’t strap on the ankle holster. His gun was in the sheriff’s property room, and that was fine with him. If they chose to check it for fingerprints, they would find his, along with those of Mary Delkus, but he doubted that would ever happen. The case was closed.

Adam parked in his marked spot at the law office and carried his briefcase through the front door without a single glance over his shoulder. He walked by Mary’s office, the one
that used to be his. He wasn’t sure what would happen next, but whatever it was, he’d handle it. As he and Carrie had said to each other again and again yesterday, God was in control. That was enough.

Brittany poked her head in his door. “I’ve already made coffee. Would you like some?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

She was back in a moment, holding two cups. She put one on his desk and said, “I’ve heard what happened over the weekend. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”

Adam started to respond when he heard the phone ringing at Brittany’s desk. She held up a finger. “Sorry, I’ve got to get that,” she said, then turned and hurried away.

No sooner was Brittany gone than Janice Evans came in. She looked at the chair opposite his desk with raised eyebrows, and Adam said, “Please. Sit down. What’s up?”

“I talked with Bruce last night. He told me some of the story. Then I called a friend in the sheriff’s department and got the rest of it. You had a busy day.”

“How’s Bruce doing?”

Janice sipped her coffee and seemed to choose her words carefully. “Bruce was hurting from having his toenails pulled out, but he was also hurting because he’d been so stupid. We all thought he hired Mary and let her lead him around because she was so good-looking. That may have been part of it, but the other part was that Mary’s father, Charlie DeLuca’s brother, held Bruce’s gambling debts years ago.”

“Was that when Elwood Stroud bailed him out?”

“Yes. Although Bruce’s debts were settled long ago, Mary said if he didn’t do what she wanted, she’d see to it that word
got around about Bruce’s gambling history. Apparently there were some stories from back then that might get him in trouble even now with the ethics committee of the bar association.”

“Is he still worried that might happen, now that Mary’s dead?”

“He doesn’t care. Bruce is ready to get out of the rat race. He told me he wants to sell his share of the partnership to me.”

Adam drank some of his coffee, cringing at the bitter taste. He’d better get there early the next day to brew it. Brittany had lots of good qualities, but making coffee wasn’t one of them. “Well, sounds like things are ending okay.”

Janice leaned toward him. “Bruce heard you tell the police your backstory, and he passed that information on to me when we talked. I’d always thought you were too good as a paralegal, and that explains it.” She removed her glasses, and Adam saw only sincerity in her gray eyes. “With Bruce leaving, I’m going to need another lawyer here. Is your license still current?”

“It is in Illinois. Does that state have reciprocity with Texas?”

“I looked it up last night. As it happens, it does. I hate to lose a good paralegal, but good lawyers are scarce too. And I have an idea you’re a very good lawyer. Would you consider joining the practice?”

Adam knew he should say, “Let me think about it.” He probably should even say, “Let me pray about it.” Instead, he said, “I’d be thrilled to.”

“Great. We’ll start drawing up an agreement later today.” She rose, but stopped to ask him, “I suppose your law license is in your real name. Do you want to go back to being Keith Branson?”

Adam had to think about that for a moment. “You know, I’ve had several names since this all started. It wasn’t so bad getting used to them, but I’ve always regretted giving up my family name.” He blinked a couple of times. “My parents are dead, and my brother and I are the last surviving Bransons. David saved my life, and I’m proud to share his last name. I think I’d like to go back to being Keith Branson . . . Dave’s brother.”

Carrie planned to start her Monday by quietly telling a few people what had happened over the weekend, but apparently the grapevine worked well, even when the staff wasn’t together at the clinic. It seemed everyone already had the news.

Lila met her at the door. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Carrie responded. Actually, she was better than she’d been in weeks—better than at anytime since Adam’s windshield shattered and gunshots propelled her into the nightmare that just ended. “Is my patient list ready?”

“On your desk,” Lila said. “But Dr. Rushton wants to see you first thing. Would you like some coffee?”